


Flan de Fresas

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Collations [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There came a hum, then, and he could hear the shift of fabric, of Hannibal-the-therapist, and then there was a soft press of lips against his temple. "There is therapy and then there is... being given what you need."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flan de Fresas

The evening drifted pleasantly, and in the morning he and Hannibal drove back to the bar to let Will retrieve his car -- not that it had ever been at any great risk of being stolen, because out of date station wagons weren't particularly in great demand for joyriding. They had parted ways comfortably, and Will still felt grounded in his own skin when he showed up at Quantico to give his lecture in half a change of clothes from the night before.

His students were interested and excited, and paying attention to his words, but they weren't all internalizing it, making it their own. It left him oddly disappointed, but today a few gathered around after class was dismissed to ask questions, to probe a little.

Maybe he was starting to get somewhere. It was a nice thought, and he was feeling pretty mellow, all things considered. It could be worse. It could be a lot worse, and he was enjoying the hell out of it.

Then Jack walked into his classroom, and he could see the possibility of his day going down the hole.

"I have another lecture at two, Jack." He let his irritation flare up a little, because he knew that Jack was there with a metaphorical piece of fabric to wave in front of his metaphorical scent hound's nose. For the moment, he was enjoying being wholly possessed of himself.

"Did I say anything, Will?" No. No, he hadn't, but he didn't need to say a word. It was written in the line of his shoulders, in the cock of his head. "Can't I just come to visit every now and then?"

He scoffed quietly, and started to pack up his bag of books and folders instead, worn familiar leather that had a smell to it, use and travel and no blood. "Why did you send a psychiatrist after me?"

Ahh, that got his attention. "After the last case, I thought you needed to talk to someone. That it might make things easier." Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back ever so slightly. "And Dr. Lecter is quite accomplished. A little unorthodox, maybe, but I had a feeling you would like him."

"He's... Acceptable. It's fine. I wish you'd given me a heads up." He rubbed fingers at the back of his neck. "What's the case?"

There was always a case, even when it didn't seem immediately apparent that there would be one. "Can't I just come and talk to you on occasion, Will?"

"You could," he agreed, "but you don't." If Jack was going to waste his time, then he was going to cut him off. Oddly, Will was rather sure he had no idea of the nature of the psychiatrist he'd sent to Will.

Jack slid his hands into his pants pocket and rocked back on his heels, his jacket crumpling with the motion. "It's complicated. This one seems to have a thing for twins... and one of them is still alive."

"Well, that's novel." Will inclined his head slightly, and gave up, shouldering his back. "Tell me about them. You have the scene or the body?"

"The scene minus the living twin's body. It's.... interesting." Of course it was. They all were or they wouldn't bring them to Will. "Let's go."

"It's in the area?" Quantico was sort of centrally located for crime, and made for fast progress to highways.

Jack shrugged. "This one's not so far we'll have to stay overnight. Come on."

He exhaled slowly, and nodded at Jack. It was a damn shame to ruin a night like he'd just had by end-capping it with murder. "And you think I'm up to this despite that you just sicced a psychiatrist on me."

"You're being unreasonable. Hannibal isn't meant to be some kind of attack dog, he's just... looking after your state of mind. I want you sharp, Will. He's there to make sure that happens."

It was a strange point to be protesting over, but Will wanted to make his general displeasure known. Needed to make it known. "And, he's supposed to, what, report back to you in the event I'm dulling down like an overused knife?"

"He's supposed to protect you from anything that lingers. What we do, it hurts all of us. Every now and then, it helps to talk to someone. You hate therapists and won't see one normally, so just consider it as me trying to look out for you." Jack paused. "Okay?"

He knew his expression was more giving in than open agreement, but he nodded, mouth tight. Mostly sure that Jack had no idea what *actually* happened, though Will wasn't sure if that was a consolation or not. It was, apparently, a secret to be kept between he and Hannibal. "Just... don't ever tell me how much you're paying him. Please. Now let's go look at this scene."

That made Jack smile, and he led the way out of Will's classroom. "Just what I want to hear."

* * *

The scene was, to put it mildly, a complete wreck. The living came before preservation of the things around them, and that meant Will's scene was a fucking mess.

"Pretty impressive mess," Beverly offered. "The other twin is still hanging in there."

He probably wished he wasn't.

"That wet splat was where his tongue was sitting on the floor," Will said, pointing to the mark near the body. "Separate of him. Can you, can we clear this out?"

Jack's voice raised, loud enough for everyone to hear it. "Okay, everybody out!" He waited until they were all reluctantly walking away before he nodded at Will. "When you're ready, well be outside."

"Sure." He took his glasses off, and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to their shuffling movements as they made their way out, out, away from him.

Gave him peace with the scene and the bodies.

It was always the same -- it unfolded in his mind, layer by layer with each blink of his eyes. He could see the way the dead twin's arm would have moved, could imagine the sound of the crack when it had broken. The killer would have wanted that -- wanted to hear it, wanted it to prove a point, although Will wasn't sure what that was yet.

He had a point to prove, though, he was sure of that, observed the two young men, sedated down with chemical restraints. They'd been bound earlier, but now they didn't need that. They needed to show him something, to make something happen, make it known. Make him understand, and WIll wasn't going to learn that this time. He knew that the way he knew his name, the steady pace of his pulse. They hadn't been able to do more than lie there and suffer, and there might have been tears, screams, but those had been easily ignored.

It wasn't the point. He hadn't been savoring it, hadn't let it linger in his senses. No, he was a man on a search for proof of something. He needed the twins to tell him something, and so he had hurt them. He had to make them prove something to him, but what?

Fumbling in a pocket, he pulled out his ever-present aspirin bottle, scowling as he tipped out four and made the effort to dry-swallow. Doing this made his head ache, made him feel unstable. No, it made him unstable, and that scared the hell out of him.

It wasn't a feeling, it was a reality. But he had a, a whisper to think on, and there'd be evidence collected by the team. He could watch them, and that was almost as good as seeing in some ways. It would have to do, and in the meantime... Well.

He might as well let them back in and let them do their jobs.

He'd seen what he could, and it only took a rise in his voice, a calling out of "Jack?" that brought all of them, Jack, Bev, Jimmy, all of them back. Will glanced around a final time and nodded. "You can collect now."

Jack sidled towards him. "So."

So.

"So, I've got a sense of him. He's looking to prove something about the twins. I can just, I can..." It was almost there.

Beverly shifted, watching him. "Don't push it. It'll come, when you're ready." Except he was never ready, and Jack was making that face that said he was taking too long.

He needed to ratchet back that expectation of genius, because he was not... not a guy who could produce miracles. "He took his time, made one of them his target, but he was focused on the other. One got all of the pain and the other got all of the attention.

The look on Jack's face said that he got it, but he didn't get it. Not really, because there was getting it and there was _seeing_ it, the imagination of it that pulled together and locked into his brain, the imagery that he couldn't get out of his mind. It was there, the careful work to get out the tongue, to cauterize it just so, which meant that whoever it was maybe had medical knowledge, but it was more likely that he knew butchery from the way things had gone. Butchery, and he was smart enough to surf the internet until he found the knowledge he needed. Hell, if he'd been military, he might have seen that kind of thing up close and personal in some third world country. Maybe he even learned to do it there, who the hell knew.

"He's a twin," Will offered, another tiny sliver of information. "Military or medical field. EMT, fire, or someone who is simply exceptionally handy. The deliberateness of the tongue removal... There are things that should not have been said. And they're going to regret that for the rest of their lives."

"The one who lived, anyway," Jimmy muttered. He was eyeing the scene with a judicious expression, and then he moved with determination, pulling out his print kit. "What a mess."

"This isn't his first one." Will felt it, it had no stretching marks or gestures to it, no echo of someone learning the steps of their craftsmanship.

It wasn't messy. "And there was a survivor, for a while."

Those kinds of statements made Jack crazy, and Will could see the way his jaw tensed. "A while."

"Either he never reported it, or he died, Jack." That was pretty damn obvious to Will. "Or there's a bizarre twin murder case that just never hit your radar before. Maybe it looked domestic, maybe someone thought it was just a random torturing..."

Never mind what was wrong that they lived in a world where random torturing was an option.

"You said he." That was Beverly, mid-step of pulling her hair up out of her way, gloves clenched in one fist. "You think they're always male."

He smiled, and inclined his head. "This time. Not always. I recognized the mother leading those boys as the power behind the throne. Metaphorically. Before the last time I... took a leave of absence, we had a poisoner."

 _Leave of absence_ was a kind way of saying he'd totally lost his shit, and they all knew it. They let him have the kinder version, despite Zeller's smarmy expression that said it was two seconds from tripping off of his tongue.

Jimmy paused, moving his gloved fingers together in a weird not quite snappy kind of way. "Oh, yeah. The, ah. What was her name? Called herself the Black Rose or something, right? Left flowers when she'd been calling." 

"This one is a he. He started with physical restraints on two healthy young men, and then moved them to chemical -- they won't have any of his DNA under their fingernails. He never gave them an option to fight back." Will rubbed at his face.

Zeller snorted. "So, what? He slipped them a roofie?"

Beverly shrugged. "People do it all the time. You know that."

"Hmn, not sure of the exact drug, it would be something easily obtained from work, something he's had access to before." And not an out of date bottle of pills, this stuff was still effective.

Jack nodded decisively. "They're running tox panels on the surviving twin. That should get us an answer before too long. I'll make a few calls, see what we've got going."

All of which left Will at ends, with nothing to do except twiddle his thumbs and be too stuck in his own head.

It was awkward, lingering there after. There was no sense of immediacy, either, because Will knew the man was settled for a while. He wasn't sated, but he was satisfied. Something would spark him off, exposure to another set of twins. Bet they had days, hours, they had _time_ to catch him. This one wasn't going on a spree, didn't plan to kill and kill and kill until someone caught him. This one was careful. This one would _wait_ until he found the right set, the ones that caught his eye and made it impossible for him to walk away from them.

Shifting abruptly, he turned away from it, squinted his eyes shut. It was too bright out to have to look at this kind of thing. "I'm going to get some coffee and not think about this."

"There's a seven eleven up the street," Jack offered over his shoulder, letting Will roam off. Yeah, that was probably for the best, to cross to the other side of the yellow tape and let it roll around in his head for a few minutes

They'd probably have something caffeinated, too. Make the aspirin kick in faster, and so Will walked away, leaving the whole thing behind him, at least physically.

Mentally would take a lot more.

* * *

This was more conventional, showing up to an office that was nicely situated downtown, with a waiting room. It made it feel more professional, and a little less like Jack had bought him a very handsome hooker.

Then again, maybe he was the one who was the hooker. He had no idea. Jack seemed to think he was a pet to be trotted out whenever he needed him, so who knew. Maybe he thought Will just needed a new chew toy.

Maybe he needed to warn the guy that Jack was just using him as a chew toy. Instead he sat in the waiting room and waited for his appointment, the twin killer rolling in slow waves through his mind, scene replaying in vivid technicolor. Broken arm, the knife wounds, the slow, careful destruction, all meant to instill as much pain as possible while keeping the victim alive for as long as he could. It was a sickening roil at the core of him, and he couldn't stop it. He'd never been able to stop it.

That was the problem. He lived it, breathed it, internalized it until it became his and he was it, and he knew what was coming next. It was convenient for Jack, but a fucking horror for himself, and he startled when the door opened.

"Will. How nice to see you. Do come in."

"Thanks. I'm glad you have an appointment free." He stood up, wiped his hands on his thighs.

Hannibal gave something like a smile. It wasn't, exactly, but perhaps it was close. "For you, Will, I will always have time. Come in."

The room he was led into was both surprising and unsurprising. It matched the man's personality to a T, the vaulted ceilings, the bookshelves that lined top and bottom, carefully selected decorations and different seating arrangements for likely different patients.

It made Will feel... he didn't know. Safe, maybe, or cocooned, or... he had no idea, really. Made him feel like he could shut down his thoughts and actually follow the thread of them to something like a conclusion. "Come. Have a seat, or roam if you like."

Cocooned, contained, folded in on from the dark sweeping arches and the walls, and the... yes, it was very architecturally sound and reassuring somehow. "This is a lot nicer than my classroom. I want to appreciate it for a moment."

"Of course." Hannibal shut the door and strolled towards a chair that was settled mostly on its own, close by an open fireplace. There was a hassock nearby, a table, and a pile of large pillows. "Enjoy it for as long as you like."

He wondered where he was supposed to sit. Still, it was so far removed from that scene, so comfortable as he roamed it. It felt foreign to his killer, and that felt better for the Will part of him as he took his time, meandered in closer. "Sorry. I've been working a case."

"So I hear." Nothing more than that, nothing that would pressure him to talk, just a simple statement. It was nice not to have to worry that he would be pressed into doing something, even so much as talking.

Even if he wanted to talk. "Jack?" Of course it was Jack, it was always Jack.

"Who else?" Hannibal shifted until he was settled comfortably, legs crossed, and he smiled. "But then, that is why he sent me. Technically, of course."

Will wandered closer, hooked the hassock with the back of his heel to sit down. "I, uh. I'm not good at this."

"You don't have to be good at it. You just have to show up." He made it sound so easy, and he tilted his head, watching Will. "And talk. Or not, as you choose."

"I'm curious what preconceptions Jack left you." Or how he explained it in the first place, which weren't questions he wanted to ask, when he was horny and curious and interested.

"Jack Crawford had a great many things to so on no few subjects. He said that you... sometimes found it difficult to stop thinking, or to stop seeing the terrible things that he shows you." The good doctor allowed his fingers to come together in a steeple. "I think that perhaps it is simply that you have a pure heart. A sort of.. empathy with what you see."

Will smirked for a moment, looking at the fireplace instead of at Hannibal. "I empathize with murderers. I feel, I see, I breathe and am compelled by their murders, their wants and desires. It's a natural process for me."

Silence stretched for a long moment between them. "And yet this also terrifies you, despite your expression."

"Horrifies me. I dream of the murders they commit, and yet I find myself doing their shopping in the grocery store. I can't find the lines between myself and these people I invite into my head. The case ends, the murderer is brought to justice or not, and they still cling to me like a film." That was why Jack had called in this man, had sent him after Will. To keep him stable, maybe, to listen to him whine, he had no idea. Just... something. Some reason.

Leaning forwards, Hannibal shifted, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees. "Sometimes, you need to be taken out of your own head so that you can cleanse them and return there with only yourself present."

Close into Will's personal space. Like the other night. "Yes. It helps,for a while, when I manage that. Until Jack drives me into another case. It's twins this time."

"Tell me about it." As though anything could be that simple. He didn't want to bring that into this room, he didn't want to become that other person.

He was pretty sure he'd already dragged those ghosts home with him from the case. This one slumbered, waited, and it waited in Will, too. "He's, he's a twin, former twin. And he's teaching the survivors a lesson about pain."

"And is this lesson for them or is it a lesson for himself?" The honest curiosity of it might have disturbed anyone else. Anyone not Will.

"Both. In the proving, he absolves himself of his failures. And spreads..." And mostly, Will wished people would keep their fucked up shit between their ears, to themselves.

"Spreads his own torment so that he isn't quite so alone anymore," Hannibal mused. "And so someone understands his suffering."

"Another twin, made helpless before death." Will felt that settle, felt it click into place like a puzzle piece, and that. That was a relief, like a wash in his head that covered that other person, and oh god. Oh god, it was so good, and he breathed out in a gust.

Hannibal tilted his head to the side. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry, I'm , the case is. In my head." He tilted his head, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Dammit."

"It's always there. In your head. This is who you are, what you do." That mouth quirked into something like a smile. "That is why we are talking, because Jack Crawford can see this. Wants to protect this."

"This. This. Not me." Will gave a harsh breath, and tried to keep himself feeling calm.

He startled beneath Hannibal's hand when his shoulder was touched, the fingers steady and soothing. "That is not why I am here, Will. Regardless."

He didn't, as a rule, like to be touched. It was too much sensation most days, but it was him, his sensation. He supposed Dr. Lecter was there because an office like that cost money. "Why are you here?"

Silence stretched out for a long moment. "Technically? Because Mr. Crawford called me. Practically?" The tip of his thumb rubbed slowly against the seam of Will's shirt, and it... he liked it.

"Ah. That's... Probably very unpractical." He turned a little, slowly, and closed his eyes tightly to avoid eye contact. "No therapy, then."

There came a hum, then, and he could hear the shift of fabric, of Hannibal-the-therapist, and then there was a soft press of lips against his temple. "There is therapy and then there is... being given what you need."

"Is this your last appointment?" He was going to fall apart, fall for it the second time, and it was just as tempting.

"Yes." Yes, a breath against his skin, and he turned towards the man because he _needed_. He needed so much, he was desperate, and he... he just... he _needed_.

Hannibal shifted back into the big comfortable chair, and Will awkwardly followed, kneeling up over his legs to keep the contact. He fucking needed more, kisses and hands, and really, fuck therapy.

Never mind the utterly atrocious amusement that rose up in him at that thought.

He was allowed to move, to shift, and Hannibal's hand caressed at the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "Was our evening together to your satisfaction, Will?"

"Yes." Yes, yes, extremely yes. "Still interested in getting you naked, though the layers have a, a certain appeal." He swallowed, felt his focus shift as he looked down at the vest buttons.

Hum of interest. "Naked. Nakedness appeals to you, then? I have to say that I find it interesting as well. Less mine and more yours."

"There's no accounting for taste." Will leaned in to kiss him again, fingers popping open his vest buttons open.

"That.. that is very true, Will." And god, the kisses. That, they were fantastic. Soft and hungry, and then harder, and he got his fingers tangled in the buttons when that changed.

He liked... Harder better than softer, liked the hunger beneath it, shifted his knees and hips in closer as if it would get him more, closer to the man who he'd been perfectly willing to go home with as a complete stranger. Those legs parted, allowed him between them, and the hands. God, the hands were just right, holding him tightly, thumbs working at his shoulders, and he wanted... wanted more of them, wanted to be touched, wanted desperately to be taken out of his own head again.

"You're addictive, and I don't know what you're getting out of this." Unless he just liked putting people under, which seemed like an impossibility to some, but Will could see how that could be the entirety of someone's sexual interests, right then, and if that was what he was guessing he was probably right. Sometimes it was just the control, and that was enough.

God, he wished control could be enough.

"So many things, good Will. For example, I am getting you out of this, and that, to me, is... quite something." Exactly what, though, that was the problem.

He was curious, he was always curious, always ready and needing to know more more more, until he was completely out of his head with it. The best his hands managed was the vest, and Hannibal had a solid shirt on underneath, thicker quality fabric that he didn't want to damage with scrabbling motions no matter how desperately his fingers wanted to make them.

"There, there." Just as though he knew what Will was feeling, wanting. "I want you to take off your shirt." Yes. Oh, yes.

It was easy to shift back, pulling his button down shirt up over his head to throw it on the floor with the long practiced ease of a man who didn't usually bother undoing or redoing his buttons. It gave himself something to do with his fingers aside from crumpling them in that shirt, tugging desperately to get beneath the armor of that suit. 

For a moment, he wondered what Hannibal would do, and then he leaned forwards and took his thumb, tracing it up the line of Will's jaw, through his beard. "You are... perfect."

It was rude to deflect a compliment with a dismissive remark, so Will restrained himself, let his hands idle down a little to at least loosen the man's necktie with calmer fingers. He wondered if being attracted to unhinged patients was a kink, and leaned back in to kiss Hannibal again when the office door opened.

"Well," Hannibal murmured, stiffening. "The cat is amongst the pigeons, then. Excuse me, Will, while I address this matter."

"The cat's a little startled." Jack's deep voice washed over them, and Will closed his eyes, not, not quite moving. He was pretty sure his jeans weren't tight enough or loose enough to hide the fact that he was hard as a rock.

"Mmm. I suppose the cat is not mistaken to be startled. Rude, yes, for coming in without announcing itself. Really, Jack." Hannibal stood, but he didn't bother to say anything to Will, didn't suggest that he dress himself, nothing at all.

His erection was probably going to fade into nothing in a second, and he ducked his head down, running his hands through his hair because that was easier than looking. "I was looking for my lead profiler. Will, you're coming with me."

"Jack, you're not my mother, and I don't need to be pulled out of school."

"I believe WIll has the right of it. He won't be going with you, not at this moment." Oh. Fuck. He didn't even know what to say about that, but it made his pulse pick up, and it did nothing to affect his erection. "You asked me to speak with him, not be his therapist. Precisely."

"I didn't expect you to, to..." Jack hesitated, making a gesture with his hand that Will heard more than saw. 

"Jack. Jack, I, I _appreciate_ your concern."

Honestly, he did, but... it was none of Jack's business. That was the problem. "You asked me to talk to him. We talked. I am not his therapist, Jack. My ethics might not be the same as those of Dr. Bloom, but they do not stretch nearly so far as you seem to believe."

"In a professional sense." Jack's voice got louder, pitched a fraction higher, and that was enough for Will to stand up and start towards him.

"Sometimes, Jack, even the best psychiatrist realizes a lost cause when they see one. Which is why Dr. Bloom took a pass on this one, and why Dr. Lecter has essentially done the same and _I don't mind_." He wanted to have friends, and, and a support structure and not quite therapists.

Maybe he should have remembered the lack of shirt; it was clear that it made Jack uncomfortable,because of the way his shoulders tensed, the look on his face.

"I think you should leave now, Jack. Tomorrow, there will be plenty of time to discuss this further." There was something about Hannibal, something that shifted in his head, made him want to sit back down and trust that things would work exactly the way he said they would.

Will stepped back, and Jack stepped back, hands slightly up in the air. "All right. Tomorrow, Will." As if making it clear that he didn't want to talk to Hannibal about it.

Christ.

"And Jack." Hannibal's voice was level. "Don't come barging into my office like this again. I don't appreciate it."

It was enough to make Will feel cold as he stepped back towards the fire, trying not to react to Jack walking in on the first, well, second intimate moment he'd had in previously almost a damn decade.

"We'll talk about this later." Jack always had to have the last goddamned word, but he left, and he shut the door behind him.

Thank god.

Will stopped, swallowing muted laughter as he put his hands on his thighs, head ducked down to breath deeply. "The look on his face..."

"Undoubtedly priceless. Unfortunately, I fear that his entrance may have somewhat dampened the mood." Yeah, but he put his hand on the nape of Will's neck, and that... that definitely didn't.

"I think we have time to get back to it." Hannibal clearly wanted control, and he wanted someone to control him.

It all worked out in the end.

He wasn't surprised when Hannibal settled into his chair again, tilting his head to the side and waiting.

He sat on the hassock again, pulled it in close to Hannibal out of his own choice. He didn't need to be asked again, not when it was already to his tastes. Or the tastes of some part of him, but he was mostly sure from his reaction the last time that it was himself and not the lunatic who had been haunting his head.

"Perhaps you should also remove your trousers," Hannibal mused. "I will lock the door. Just to be on the safe side."

"I'd appreciate that." It hadn't seemed necessary before, but now... now he wanted to be naked and to see what he could manage with Hannibal. Just how far he could get the other man to go, or at least, what he had in mind.

The quiet turn of the lock was somehow more primarily satisfying than it would have been if it had made a heavy thunk of sound. That accomplished, Hannibal turned towards him, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Shall we continue?"

It was awkward in some ways, and Will's fingers faltered at his belt, under the weight of Hannibal's eyes.

"Go ahead." Encouragement, and not even subtle encouragement, but obvious and warm and he had no idea what to do for a moment.

The warmth eased it for him, an odd sense of fondness, and he closed his eyes as he thumbed the button on his trousers. It wasn't so much a strip show, as an act of enjoyment when he finally dropped them.

"My lovely Will." Strange, yes. More than strange, in its way, because he couldn't say that he had been anyone's in a very long time, and no one had ever seemed quite so pleased to declare their ownership of him. "Now. Make yourself comfortable."

There were a thousand klaxon bells in the back of his head telling him that it was a horrible idea, that he needed to leave, that he, that he, it was unhinged, but he sat on the edge of the hassock again, leaning back on his hands to survey Hannibal.

He was watching Will just as carefully, head tipped to the side. It might not be obvious, but Will could tell that he found pleasure in this; the tilt of his head, the heaviness of his gaze, the faint unmistakeable scent of his arousal, it was all there for the discerning man to see. "Now. Pleasure yourself. For me."

Not for himself, but for the other man, so in a way that Will thought he'd find attractive, and the whole thing was taking so many brain cycles, a sparring match between minds that he could feel the case sliding to the back of his immediate alertness. "I'm not accustomed to this." It wasn't meant coyly, more of a warning. Masturbation was usually to take the edge off, and he tried to disconnect it from work as much as possible. 

For the moment, he lifted his hips, shifted and stretched his legs to get comfortable, slid fingers down to rub at the skin beside his dick, working dry fingers up to the touch as he let his eyes fix on Hannibal's throat. Apparently the thing with the man's neck was all him.

"You may become accustomed, in time." If they continued this, he didn't say, but his expression was rapt, fascination written starkly on his face.

"That's rather encouraging." He let his eyes skirt over the man's face, taking in individual parts to create a whole because it was easier than maintaining eye contact while he wrapped his fingers around his dick.

"I should hope so." Hannibal's dark gaze lingered over him in a visual caress, a glint of deep sherry in the depths of them that seemed to Will to say _Things_. "You are lovely to see, and doubtless lovelier to possess."

He mostly wanted to see Hannibal actually possess him, to do more than run over him with his eyes. He squeezed the base, started to run his fingers slowly up along the inside of his shaft. Slow, he thought, was the way to go, the way to tempt Hannibal into doing what he wanted, except Will knew somewhere in the center of himself that he wasn't the one in control. That he would never be the one in control, and just thinking that was enough to make his breath hitch with increased need.

Everything hinged on what Hannibal asked of him, allowed and encouraged him to do. He kept the slow pace, watching Hannibal, eyes darting up and down his face, settling on his neck, because there were physiological reactions there that would never reach that carefully schooled face.

It bothered him when the other man turned away, even though it was only for a moment. That shift, the motion of him looking away, made Will ache, and when he moved to look at Will again, it was nearly heart-stopping. He strode forwards and laid his left hand on Will's shoulder. "Use this." In his palm rested a small tube, and he offered it openly.

He reached up, took it back and let his fingers linger for a moment against Hannibal's before he squeezed the lube carefully into his palm. "Thanks."

"You are very welcome." The man's fingers glided over his in a caress, not quite holding onto him, but still sending a thrill of pleasure through him at the very contact.

It wasn't a particularly altruistic act, seeing as it meant he got a better show, but Will liked the linger, liked the way he smiled. "Anything else you'd like to see me do with this?"

The faint smile that tilted those finely carved lips made his breath catch in his chest. "Surprise me. Perhaps later we can, ah. Get down to brass tacks?"

The edges of his mouth curled a little, and he hoped that brass tacks wasn't a literal offer. Still, as far as carrots went, it went far to getting him to slide slick fingers around his dick, trying to shift his position up onto his knees so he could get his fingers back between his legs easier. It was just a feeling, or maybe it was a little more than that. He knew that this was what Hannibal wanted to see, or he felt that it was, or fucked if he knew. His hand on his dick felt amazing, and he grunted with pleasure, tensing just... just enough, just so because fuck that felt good. Felt amazing, and the slick fingers behind his balls certainly didn't hurt anything

He could work himself up to a slow frenzy, keeping it on the edge of enough stimulation to keep things active, but not too much to get him on his way to orgasm.   Every once in a while, Will squeezed the base of his dick slowly, just enough to keep him on the edge, to get his ass worked open for more.

God, he hoped that he would get more. More, more everything, more touch, more... more than just being watched. The being watched thing, it was hot, and it was maddening, and he wanted to be touched. He wanted, and he couldn't seem to do anything more than pant, even when Hannibal stepped closer. "You are beautiful to watch, Will. Particularly...."

Oh.

Oh, fuck, finger tracing the head of his cock, and holy fucking shit.

Different than touching himself, sharply so, and he closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on that feeling and the fingers up his ass. Just a slow stroking, barely a trace. Enough to make him ache and moan and shudder, and when he opened his eyes, Hannibal was so close to him that he gasped, and that was when his lips were captured, kissed, and he lost any hope of control.

It was easier than the unravelling from earlier, smoother and slow as he struggled to keep up the motions of fingers up his ass. That was less about him and more about the fact that Hannibal seemed to find it pleasing, and oh. Oh, god, that was amazing, that was...

"There. There, dear Will, just so."

He closed his eyes, and leaned in, broke the slow devouring kisses. "You, I want to make you feel..." As good as he felt, as grounded as he felt in that moment because there was just his head in there and it was amazing.

Hannibal's fingers lingered along the line of his jaw, stroking his neck. "Do not worry. I assure you, this is.. quite the pleasure for me." Maybe, but Will wanted more.

He wanted to share, and while there was something fundamentally pleasing about being the focus of one's attention, he preferred it a little more give and take. Hannibal could still be in control, was, clearly. No arguments, nothing Will wanted to push back on.  

"Bad habit, used to reciprocating…" Tit for tat, and oh, god, Hannibal's fingers on him again.

"Perhaps. For now, I find a great deal of enjoyment in your pleasure. I hope that you can understand."

"I, I'll work on it." It wasn't a hardship, to breathe out and focus on the dual sensations of fingers in his ass and fingers on his dick.

Fuck. Fuck, that was, and then Hannibal's thumb rubbed across his slit, teased, and he nearly lost control of himself entirely.

He hitched his hips up, and had to stop moving his fingers, struggling not to orgasm yet. "Hannibal, please. Please..."

It earned him a hum by way of answer, and a steady motion that, oh. Oh. Oh fuck. "Come for me, Will. Show me. I want to see you."

He panted, knees spread wide as he dared to try to drive himself down onto three fingers without losing that stroking. "Fuck, fuck, I, it's too soon..."

"Never too soon." Husky, and then he leaned down and licked across the space where his thumb had been, and it was a lost cause.

His eyes shut, half startled by orgasm, because he'd never expected lips on the head of his cock just then, not from a man that controlled and calm. "Please, please..." He didn't know what he was begging for, and he couldn't quite bring himself to ruin Hannibal's hair.

Never mind that he probably had semen everywhere, considering how close he had been.

He couldn't stop shaking, and it was... it had been amazing, brilliant, and he didn't know what else to say about it. Hannibal's thumb stroked over his hipbone while he came back to himself, and this. Whatever this was, he didn't know if he could give it up.

It was slow and soft, and compelling and, and Will had no idea how he was going to ever stop it.

It was for the best then that he had no plans to stop.


End file.
